


The Most Chilling Place in Oregon

by Dragongirlie



Category: Danny Phantom, Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Fear, Horror (kind of), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Incomplete, Minor Injuries, No Romance, Not Beta Read, Not BillDip, Post-Episode: s02e04 Sock Opera, Serious Injuries, sock opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragongirlie/pseuds/Dragongirlie
Summary: Mabel's ruined sock opera left Dipper in a less-than-satisfying condition. He had been called crazy. Perhaps not to his face, but he knew what they were thinking. But he wasn't crazy—he was completely sane, in fact. All he needed was the ghost. Then he could prove himself and his sanity, and yet, that goal would prove harder to accomplish than he had first thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mind you, this story comes about a week or less after Sock Opera.

After that evening, everything seemed weightier. Almost like it meant something.

Every pebble. Every shadow. Every shape. All of it, encased in a suffocating darkness that made breathing difficult to do. With all the new meaning came even more fears that hid within every crevice and every dream.

The journal. It wanted the journal. It needed the journal. The demon needs the journal. The same velvet red journal tucked tightly in unrelenting strength. He couldn't let it get to the journal. The thought of how close it had gotten to destroying it that evening made his chest ache with fear.

Oh, how close it had gotten. Mere inches away. It had been down to his sister, who had been a better sibling to him than he could ever be to her. He had been a ghost, his body unfeeling and numb, slipping through walls and floors unnaturally to attempt to stop the demon. The way he had taken control of a puppet that was in his image and his newfound ability to feel through the cotton of the sock made the boy shudder in discomfort.

Both boy's arms were covered in thick layers of bandages, his scarlet blood still spilling from the numerous punctures through his skin, coloring the coverings a deep red. Along his forearms were purple bruises that made his muscles scream with each flex. His head was wrapped in gauze pads, held in place using medical tape. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, though he forced his eyes open each time he tried to drift off.

He needed to be strong. His sister was worried about him. But he'd show her. He'd show them all that he wasn't crazy, that nothing was just in his injured mind. He'd show them that he was still as sane as anyone else. And to do that, he needed proof; just as the handyman had told him.

Dipper closed the book silently, his eyes drifting over to her sleeping form in the bed across the room. Feeling the cold air soak into him as he slipped out of bed, he shivered before hugging the journal ever closer to his chest. Tip-toeing across the room, the boy risked opening the door to their room. Holding his breath for a moment, his hesitance led to his hand hovering over the doorknob in a taunting manner. His mind kept wandering back to that evening, returning to a question that never seemed to leave his mind. Will it happen again?

Biting his lip, Dipper glanced back at his sister, still sound asleep in her bed. Again, Dipper felt relieved that she had disposed of the puppets that had once coated the floor and lined her bed frame. Mabel seemed just as relieved when Dipper had requested the riddance of the things.

Dipper turned back to the doorknob, his hand still hovering over it. Taking a shallow breath, he opened it.

Creeeeeaakkkk...

Dipper froze, hardly daring to breathe. Behind him, he heard multiple rustles of blankets moving, the result of the sleeping figure shifting restlessly in her sleep. Waiting only a moment, Dipper inhaled slowly before pushing it open just a little more.

Creeeak...

Freezing once more, Dipper had opened it just barely enough to get through. He slipped carefully through, his socked feet scuffing the floor silently as he made his way down the old, wooden stairs. His eyes scanned the area, taking in as many details as he could while in the dark. What made his heart almost stop, however, were the moving shadows that were shifting just beyond the curtains that hid the rest of the Mystery Shack from customers' views.

Dipper inhaled sharply before continuing down the steps. Reaching the bottom, he crouched low to the ground, the journal still glued to his chest. With a leery gaze, Dipper reached for the curtain; the one concealing the shifting shadows beyond. He pulled it back, his eyes widened as he glanced around.

Nothing.

Dipper let out a small, airy laugh and a shaky, apprehensive smile. The shadows were just figures of his overactive, tired mind. His relief quickly soured at the recognition. He had almost agreed with them, blaming his statements on the head injury.

Dipper's hand instinctively went to the gauze pads, his mind becoming distrait as his eyes scanned thoughtlessly over the numerous shadows blanketing the Shack's innards. His gaze flitted around cautiously at the T-shirts and snow globes before stepping forward, out into the open area. He quietly stalked up to the front door, grasping the knob with his hand before turning it, pushing the door open.

He stepped outside, the cold air nipping at his fingers and toes while he inhaled the crisp scent of night. Walking down the last few wooden stairs, Dipper let his feet carry him off the dirt road and into the darker forest, the grass was soft and cool to the touch. As he walked, he looked at the book in his hands, mentally debating on whether to open it and continue leafing through the pages, trying to take in enough information about anything that would help him later. But after just ten seconds, he opened the journal up to a random page and started to skim quickly through the writing.

As he kept walking, his eyes scanned the picture of a gnome, a creature he had both met and despised. Though his head started to ache from usage, and he had already memorized the page, he reread the words as if it were the first time he laid his eyes on them. He flipped the page, this one about the mysterious Golden Truth Teeth. Scowling in thought, Dipper peered closer at the words despite the growing pain behind his eyes.

Then something ran into him; or more accurate, he ran into it. He rubbed his nose, glaring openly at the tree that had caused him the pain. He glanced down and quickly picked up the journal, brushing off the debris from the ground. Then a realization hit him like a smack to the head.

Dipper looked around. Nothing looked familiar. Not the path, nor the trees, or even the branches that covered the sky. Before panic could set in, Dipper took a deep breath, inhaling for a few seconds before exhaling again. All he needed to do was retrace his steps. That was all.

The boy turned around, proceeding to walk forward. After a few minutes, still, nothing seemed familiar. It seemed like everything was new like he was in a different forest altogether. Though he was afraid and wanted to go home, Dipper couldn't help but feel curious as to why he'd never seen this part of the forest before.

It was then that the dirt path widened considerably, revealing a large area of dry dirt, much like the land around the Shack. In the middle of said area stood a run-down, dust-grey cabin that was falling apart at the seams.

The logs were cracked and flaking while the window glass seemed to have been shattered long ago, leaving nothing but empty holes that would be easy to jump through. Dipper's eyes widened at the revelation. His mind immediately went to the ghosts he had discovered in the old convenience store a few weeks prior. Looking down at his book, Dipper flipped through the pages, glancing at each one for less than a second before he found the correct page: Ghosts.

The picture was grey and obscured, and looked like a stereotypical bedsheet ghost with black chasms for eyes and a black frown for a mouth. Just looking at the page, the big red letters were the biggest on the sheet, with a thick line underlining the words in the same ink. Dipper tried remembering the page location before glancing up at the cabin, snapping the book shut and clutching it close to his chest.

He walked towards the cabin, his steps leery while his gaze switched restlessly from rotting log to rotting log to avoid tripping over them. Said logs were scattered everywhere, seemingly cut from trees around the cabin but not from the building itself; it was still standing. Dipper, his heart racing with curiosity and fear, stepped over the last log, glancing up at the large cabin.

His mouth hung open at the closer sight, but he couldn't say it looked any better. Getting closer aided him in seeing the sheer number of parasites and decomposers that littered the wall, termite burrowing through the rotting wood, mushrooms peeking out from between cracks, and insects, scurrying through holes and along railings. Cringing, Dipper put aside this fact for just a moment, taking a step up the old wooden stairs.

It creaked horribly but didn't give. He tested out the next one. This one had made a snapping sound, a piece of the wood below the stairs assumingly being broken in half by his weight. Gritting his teeth, Dipper looked at the last step, one that could barely be considered a step with all the ants and beetles running over it. He almost wanted to bail out.

He tested out the last step. Finding it could hold him, he hurried onto the porch.

Each step on the wood made a foul creaking that made Dipper's heart lurch with fear. Couple that with the ever-lowering temperature, he was sure there was a ghost haunting the building. Dipper looked at the rusted door handle in apprehension.

The rust, though having nothing to do with it, vaguely reminded him of the blood that was still seeping into the bandages. The sickening smell of dried blood, and the disturbing feeling of constant bleeding.

He shuddered openly, grasping the doorknob and turning it. It didn't even turn, the rust practically flaking off with each movement. Dipper furrowed his brows. He tried again, forcing the door open with difficulty, but it opened this time. Not wanted to be trapped inside, Dipper left the door wide open as he ventured inside.

The same outside, the building was dark. Cobwebs hung from every visible rafter, though even those seemed to be abandoned. It was freezing, making goosebumps appear along Dipper's arms as he took a shuddering breath. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he glanced around, wide-eyed at the cabin's innards.

He stepped forward, walking into the foyer of the house. The couch and television were covered in many layers of dust, making them appear grey and colorless. Even as he walked, Dipper took note of the powder that was now coating his socks. He rubbed his arms, walking around leerily, looking up and seeing a staircase. They led up to the second floor.

Gritting his teeth, Dipper decided to ignore the second floor for the time being. He stalked through the living room and into the kitchen, the tiles cracked and powdery. The cabinets were open, but nothing was taken from inside; leaving cracked china, dusty pots, and multiple old pans out in the open on the shelves. It was unnatural.

Dipper shivered as his gaze landed on another set of stairs, these ones leading down into the basement below. He swallowed thickly, not sure if he wanted to venture alone any further that night. Reluctantly, he decided it would be best to return home before the sun rose. He didn't need anyone worrying about him because he left overnight.

He turned around, returning to the front door. Furrowing his brows, he turned the knob and it opened with even more difficulty. Shoving the door out of his way, Dipper hurried down the steps, choosing to not heed the insects that covered the staircase.

So, he hurried home. A few minutes along he found a Mystery Shack sign that he had nailed up prior and followed the now-familiar forest of trees back home to the Shack. It was lucky for him that he had been able to leave that cabin.

For everyone who had gone in, never came out.


	2. Chapter 2

Dipper couldn't help but be annoyed at the harsh light streaming through the window, which made his closed eyes burn from the unrelenting red that glared at him. He groaned, silently willing the light to cease its brightness. After just a few minutes, he sighed in defeat. Now awake, he yawned widely, kicked off his blankets and sluggishly rolled out of bed. With a glance at the bandages covering his arms, they were russet and stiff with dried blood. He sighed, misery rolling off his voice. At least they had stopped bleeding.

He glanced around the room, spotting the journal on his bedside table. He grabbed it quickly, and stood there for just a moment, allowing himself to take in the velvet color of the book cover. He furrowed his brows. Yet again, he found himself thinking of the demon. Shaking his head slightly, he replayed the prior events in his head. He'd gotten his body back and the demon-possessed puppet then got crushed by fireworks. It was gone.

Though it wasn't the best way to be rid of a demon, it was still  _a_ way, and that was what mattered. But as Dipper stared wistfully at the journal, he couldn't help feeling anxious, as if something worse were to happen.

Dipper sighed, almost trying to breathe away his anxiety. Already, he longed to go outside and ease his toiling thoughts, despite his growling stomach demanding nourishment. So he went downstairs, the journal in his arms.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, he glanced at the television that was currently turned on, with their Grunkle Stan sitting on the chair looking fully engrossed in the movie he had watched a few weeks ago. The movie was in black and white, but Dipper couldn't really find the same interest in  _The Duchess Approves_ that Grunkle Stan had _._

Dipper made his way into the kitchen, finding Mabel chugging a pink, glittery liquid. "G'morning, Dipper!" she called, setting down her glass on the table.

"Hey," he greeted reluctantly, a small smile gracing his lips.

Mabel narrowed her eyes, leaning closer to him as he sat down at the table. "Hey, were you up all night again?"

Dipper gave her a dubious look. "Why would I be? There was no point," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he poured himself his own glass of the pink drink. "Besides, it's not like I'd be able to stay awake all night anyway." Dipper glanced at the TV, taking a sip of his drink.

He gagged, sticking out his tongue before he began to stare at the drink with distaste. Even so, he knew what it was, and that it would probably help with his sluggishness. He'd always wondered why Mabel always seemed hyper despite exerting herself every day.

"Even though you've been doing it all week," Mabel pointed out, gesturing to the bags underneath his eyes. The boy shrugged helplessly, lifting the glass back up to his lips. Her expression turned solemn, very rare for the happy-go-lucky girl. "Dipper, what's up? You've been acting all weird."

Dipper choked on the drink. He held out a hand and spat out the tiny plastic toy that almost went down his throat. Scowling at it for a moment, Dipper placed it on the table and flicked it across with his finger. "It's nothing," he said.

"Dipper..." Her voice made it clear she wanted an answer.

"Like I said, it's nothing," Dipper insisted. Though she looked reluctant, Mabel wordlessly turned back to her drink. The boy watched as the glitter in her half-empty glass fluttered to the bottom of the cup. The plastic dinosaurs continued to float. Then, Dipper remembered last night.

Grinning, he just then realized what exactly he had found. "Mabel, I have something to tell you. Follow me." Despite telling her to merely follow him, Dipper grabbed her arm and began pulling her along behind him as he rushed up the stairs.

When they stopped, they were in their room. She gave him a quizzical face. "Dipper, what's this all about?"

The boy smiled widely. "I found an abandoned log cabin in the woods just east of here," Dipper explained, his voice quivering with excitement. "There are ghosts in there, Mabel, I'm telling you. There had been a whole second floor and a basement!"

Mabel looked at him with concern. "Okay? Dipper, why are you telling me this? And when did you find it?"

Dipper gritted his teeth. "Does it really matter? Mabel, this is a one in a lifetime opportunity. Ghost-catching! We'll be famous!"

Mabel furrowed her brows. "I dunno, Dip." She glanced at his rust-colored bandages. "You should really get those changed first." Then her gaze drifted to the gauze pads on his head.

Dipper waved a dismissive hand, attempting to ward off her gaze that was trained on his head. "I can do that later. We have to do this  _now._ So are you coming or what?" He prompted her to answer. He wanted to catch that ghost.

The boy wasn't stupid. When he had entered that house, there was a hollow cold that chilled him to the bone, the cool temperature that had seeped into his veins. He knew there was something in that cabin. Even if it wasn't a ghost, there was still something, hidden away in the shadows that blanketed the place.

"I bet it's got vampires," he commented with a smirk, trying to convince her just a little more.

Mabel puffed her cheeks out for a second before sighing. "Fine. But we're getting your band-aids switched out first."

Dipper hissed an inaudible  _yes_ as he mentally celebrated.

Even after his mental celebration, he protested as Mabel forced him into their bathroom before making him sit on the counter. She peeled off the soaked bandages with care, trying to not harm the new scabs that were present over the puncture wounds. It seemed even she realized that the wounds bled for much longer than they should've.

Taking the roll of bandages that was laying on the counter, she wrapped his arms back up with the clean bandages. Mabel forced his head down, undoing the medical tape and taking off the reddened gauze.

"O-ow, Mabel! Stop, that hurts!" Dipper tried to push her away when she placed new, clean gauze on his sore head.

"Oh, hush. You were fine the other times I did it," Mabel complained, forcing his arm out of the way.

Dipper huffed in annoyance, finding that she was right. "But you're still going to come with me to see it, right?"

Mabel sighed. "Yeah, Dip, I'm still coming." Dipper could tell her better judgment was telling her otherwise, but he merely pursed his lips. He'd show it to her. She'd understand.

Dipper had high hopes that Mabel would help him capture a ghost. The boy could already imagine himself as a paranormal scientist, working alongside the author that he'd yet to put a name to. The whole thought made Dipper giddy at his discovery, eager to get started.

"Okay, I'm good now," he announced, pushing her aiding arms away and hopping off the counter. "Now, let's go."

"Do you even know what we're up against?" Mabel questioned.

"Ghosts," he stated. "I thought I already mentioned that."

She rubbed her arm. "I mean, I guess... But, do you know what to do?"

Dipper waved a dismissive hand. "Of course I do. We handled those ghosts just fine back in the convenience store."

"Dipper, that was different."

"How so? I don't see the difference."

Mabel sighed. "Those ghosts had grudges against teenagers. And they were old. They like cute things. Like your—"

"Don't you dare say it!" Dipper warned, pointing a finger. "I thought we agreed to never talk about that!"

Mabel grinned before rolling her eyes, clearly not understanding the importance that the dance should never be named. "Okay, fine. But really, how do we know it won't be dangerous?"

"We don't," Dipper supplied uselessly, "but that's what makes it so amazing. We get to capture a ghost, Mabel! We'll be the first ones ever!"

"But what about those ghost hunters in that one movie? And how will  _we_ capture a  _ghost?_ Wouldn't we need, like, some kind of magic ghosty stuff?" she asked.

Dipper straightened his back and puffed out his chest, a determined glint in his eyes. "I believe I have quite a few ideas as to how we can achieve it, even without using 'magic ghosty stuff,'" he stated. "The only things we need are a mirror, some special flowers, and bit of what I like to call 'backup plans.'"

Mabel raised an eyebrow but seemed to accept this nonetheless. "Did you get all that from your nerd-book?"

Dipper did a  _so-so_ gesture with one hand, choosing to ignore the nerd-book insult. "A little from there, a little from that, but mostly from the journal." He opened it up, leafing through the pages before stopping abruptly, pointing at the ghost page before shoving the journal into Mabel's unsuspecting arms.

She looked at it with knitted brows, seemingly torn on what to do or how to do it. "There are ten categories of ghosts," she summarized, sending a confused look to her brother.

Dipper nodded, smiling. "Go on," he urged.

Her eyes snapped back to the page. Dipper watched as she turned the page, her eyes scanning the words. "So, what? You think it's a category one?" She showed him the picture of a friendly-looking ghost with animated eyes and an innocent smile. She was also pointing to the word  _Eh_ scrawled in red ink.

The boy shrugged, taking the journal back and tucking it under his arm. "Maybe even a category two, but definitely not a ten. It would have killed me as soon as I entered the house."

"You went inside?" Mabel gawked openly at him, shock coloring her face.

"Yeah? What's wrong with that? Nothing happened, and I didn't get hurt or anything," he reasoned. "Besides, at least I got some context. We have an idea what kind of ghost it is." Dipper patted the velvet book proudly. "When we find out, we'll know how to capture it."

Mabel pursed her lips before offering a small, sympathetic smile. It was oddly irritating to the boy. "Alright. But I'm hungry and it's nearly dinner time. Grunkle Stan even said he'd take us out to Greasy's Diner tonight."

Dipper straightened, his eyes widening. "Wait, it's almost dinner? How much time went by?"

Mabel shrugged. "I dunno, but you woke up pretty late, and that whole 'changing your band-aids' ordeal took a while."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he groaned exasperatedly, grabbing his hair. "We could've been there by now!"

"Dipper, calm down, the cabin isn't going anywhere," Mabel consoled, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders. "And don't mess with your head."

Anger flared in his throat. "I know, I know, it'll make it worse," Dipper droned, trying to rope his emotions in. "But I'm fine, my head's fine, my arms are fantastic. We'll just catch this ghost and then—"

"Dipper." Mabel stared into his eyes, her eyebrows knitted firmly together. "Just calm down. You're hurting yourself." The girl glanced at his arms. The bandages were gradually turning red in multiple places, the tiny scarlet blotches enlarging slightly with each passing second. "I know you say you're fine, but at least admit to yourself that you need help.  _Mental_ help."

"I don't  _need_ help, though!" Dipper protested, shrugging off her firm hands. "I'm perfectly fine! And I certainly don't nee any mental help. I'm just as sane as anyone else."

"I didn't say you weren't," Mabel countered, "but be honest with yourself." Dipper glared at her whole-heartedly, but her stony expression remained, showing no signs of softening. Reluctantly, his gaze dropped.

"I do need help," he admitted. His eyes snapped back to her. "But not mentally. Mabel, I need help getting a chance to prove I'm fine. This ghost—it'll prove everything. It'll prove that I'm not crazy."

"Dipper, you're not—"

"But you think I am," he stated, cutting her off. His smile was sickly sweet as he took the journal with both hands, letting her see the hand mark's golden sheen. "And I'm aiming to prove you wrong."

Mabel shook her head, placing a hand on the book cover and pushing it gently down, away from her face. "I'm not wrong," she argued, "but I think you need a while to understand the fact that you need help. Bill messed your head up pretty badly." Dipper couldn't help but cringe at the name, subconsciously bringing the book closer to his chest.

Mabel grimaced, seeing his reaction. "We're gonna go eat in about an hour. Maybe food will clear your head," she grinned.

Dipper gritted his teeth. Even though he longed to argue against her, he couldn't help but unwillingly agree. He hadn't ingested anything but a glass of Mabel Juice all day, and even that was a mistake, what with all the plastic dinosaurs floating with all the glitter. So Dipper found himself nodding slightly before Mabel grinned again, lightly grabbing his wrist and leading him downstairs to occupy themselves before it was time to leave for the diner.


	3. Chapter 3

Dipper rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was night and the boy was up in the attic. Though the place was unnerving, to say the least, the laptop was up there.

Even though it was crushed, Dipper couldn't leave it behind. It had belonged to the author; who was seemingly the only one in Gravity Falls who actually realized the strange happenings in the town.

When the demon smashed the laptop, everything had been erased. Before it had sunken in that he had lost everything saved within the laptop, he'd asked Soos about it, who was practically a master at anything having to do with fixing things. He was even the one who recovered the laptop in the first place. But even Soos had said that the thing was too damaged to house any data.

After that, Dipper decided to give up on fixing it. Instead, he merely tried to collect all the pieces that had broken off or spilled out to save for something else. Dipper couldn't help but wonder if he'd need the broken laptop for anything, and he couldn't risk tossing it out.

He walked carefully down the steps, the laptop and journal tucked under his arms with the pieces in his vest pocket. Reaching the base of the steps, he turned and walked into his and Mabel's room.

Dipper placed the laptop on the floor next to his bed before shoving it underneath. He took out the laptop parts and stared at them for a moment before tossing them under the bed as well.

He straightened up, taking the journal into his hands. Gritting his teeth, he opened it up, flipping back to the ghost page. Skimming over it, he snapped it back shut, his eyes wandering over to his bedside table. Dipper grabbed the flashlight, ripping the jewel off of the plastic lens. He flicked it, making sure it still worked.

He turned to the curtains across the room. Dipper yanked them to the side, the metal screeching in protest as he did so. His gaze flitted over the random assortment of things for landing on a blue bookbag stuffed in the corner. He grabbed it, sliding the curtains back in place before going back over to his bed. Dipper grabbed the flashlight, shoving it in the outer pocket of the bag. He placed the journal into the biggest slot, freezing for only a moment before taking it back.

Dipper had looked through it an infinite number of times. Though the journal did include the information on ghosts, it didn't share where the flowers were located.

Dipper pursed his lips. He needed to find another way to find out where they were. Fortunately, he had an idea as to how.

He knew that ever since the outbreak of zombies, Robbie Valentino had taken the extra mile in learning about the undead. Not only did he start learning about zombies, but he had also begun studying ghosts.

Before the demon, Dipper had asked the teen about his progress. As expected, Robbie denied ever stepping foot into the studies of the undead. Though Dipper knew it might be a lost cause, he was determined to ask the teen for help.

So Dipper left the practically-empty bag on his bed and walked downstairs. He could hear the sounds of the television as he reached the bottom. Apparently, another episode of Duck-Tective had come out. Grunkle Stan was sitting in his chair, a large bowl of popcorn in his lap. Mabel was sitting on the armrest of the chair, occasionally getting handfuls of the buttery snack and slowly eating it, fully entranced in the show.

Dipper raised an eyebrow at her actions. "Hey," he started, "I'm gonna go walk around town." Mabel hummed in response. "At midnight." Another hum. "Without supervision." Mabel took another handful of popcorn. Dipper scowled, but couldn't help letting a little relief enter his chest. Though it wasn't midnight just yet, (only about seven or eight) they weren't concerned about him going outside at that time. But being ignored was still annoying. "Mabel!"

"What? We're watching Duck-Tective!" Mabel scowled, turning to him. Dipper was ready for at least some kind of continuation of her annoyance, but her scowl lightened to a concerned look when she glanced at the gauze on her brother's head. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Dipper huffed. "Nevermind. I'm going to Robbie's; he's studying the undead." He glanced at the journal. "I need information."

Mabel nodded, getting another handful of the popcorn. "Okay," she acknowledged. "And sorry I'm not coming with you tonight; I didn't know the new episode was out." She then turned back to the TV.

He waved a dismissive hand, though he was a bit disappointed. "Whatever. It's fine. I just need some stuff from Robbie." Dipper then walked into the dimly lit kitchen, opening up a drawer and getting a sandwich bag. He went back to the living room, grabbing handfuls of popcorn and putting it in the bag. Zipping it shut, he tucked the bag into his vest pocket.

Dipper didn't want any other people to know of his injury, and especially not Robbie. He yanked his hat off of the dining room table on his way out, also grabbing his shoes that were right next to the curtained doorway. He slipped on his shoes, having a little trouble with the heels, and put his hat on. For the first time in a week, he felt a lot better. More confident, one could even say.

The boy opened the door and slipped out, closing it behind him. He walked along the dirt road, which was dimly lit by lamposts with flickering and flashing light bulbs that had gone unchanged for decades. The chilly night air was crisp, but the atmosphere rapidly turned heavy. Dipper's nerves were strung high, and he was uncomfortable. With the flickering lights and cold night, he could feel goosebumps line his arms.

Dipper quickened his pace.

Only a minute later, Dipper was on the sidewalk, walking in the direction of Robbie's house. More than once, the boy found himself rubbing warmth into his bandaged arms; the cold was starting to get to him. But Dipper pushed that aside, leaning more towards getting answers than wondering about the temperature.

It wasn't long until Dipper approached the Valentino funeral home. Whether it was purposely built to send uncomfortable chills down one's spine, Dipper didn't think he wanted to know. He just pursed his lips, steeled his nerves the best he could, and walked up to the front door. He chose to ignore the sign that stated, "If you were dead, you'd be home by now!" To say the least, that sign was unnerving.

He stood on the mat that was placed on the porch, staring apprehensively at the door in front of him. Reluctantly, he raised his fist and knocked a simple three times. He waited patiently, though he had started fiddling with his journal, passing it from hand to hand and glancing at it from time to time. After what felt like a decade, the door opened.

Instead of Mr. or Mrs. Valentino answering the door, Robbie himself was standing there, leaning nonchalantly against the doorway. He was inspecting his nails. "Hey, listen, it's after hours, so I'm gonna have to ask you to—"

"It's Dipper," the boy interrupted.

Robbie's eyes widened, his gaze tearing off his fingers and onto Dipper. "Dude, seriously? What happened last week?"

Dipper shuddered but passed it off as a shiver from the cold night air. "That doesn't matter. I need your help."

The teen stepped out of the doorway, closing the door behind him. Dipper stepped back. "And why should I help you?"

Dipper reached into his vest pocket, pulling out the popcorn. "I have an offering."

Robbie glared. "You think I'd help you because of some party snacks? Why you little sh—"

"Shut up. You like popcorn. Now, are you going to help me or not?" Dipper shoved the bag into Robbie's hand.

Though the older kid glowered openly, he sighed. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I need information. Ever since the zombies, you've been studying the undead. I know that. Everyone knows that." Dipper eyed the teen. "I need you to tell me where Blood Blossoms are located."

Robbie huffed in annoyance. To Dipper, it seemed the teen ignored the fact about him studying the undead. "Idiot, I have some. What are you going to do with them? Catch some ghost?" Robbie gave a half-chuckle.

"Yes," Dipper deadpanned.

The teen shook his head. "Man, you really are crazy." Dipper glared. "Fine, I'll go get them. You wait here." Robbie went back inside, closing the door behind him. After a few minutes, he came back out, holding a blue drawstring satchel in one hand. The bag itself wasn't very big; only about the size of a tennis ball.

"That's it?" Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut it. Blood Blossoms are powerful flowers," the teen argued. "Did you tell anyone you were coming?"

The boy nodded, looking apprehensively at the satchel. "Yeah. But only Mabel and if Grunkle Stan bothered to listen." Though reluctantly, Robbie held the bag out to Dipper, who went to grab it.

But then Robbie pulled it back. "Ah ah," he tsked, "If you're hunting ghosts, I need to come, too."

"What? But that wasn't part of the deal!" Dipper sputtered.

"What deal?" At the boy's confused face, Robbie groaned. "If you died out there, people would get the wrong idea. They'd ask for information; when they last saw you. Your sister, right? She'd tell 'em you came over here. I'd be in trouble with my folks."

The younger boy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. But stay out of my way. I only need the Blossoms."

"Fair enough." The teen dropped the drawstring bag into Dipper's hands. "Where's the haunting site?"

"An old abandoned cabin east of the Mystery Shack. It's in the forest," Dipper explained, peering curiously at the drawn pouch. "It had missing glass and was infested with bugs. Even the cobwebs were vacant."

Robbie seemed skeptical. "How do you even know it was haunted? Lots of people around here are screaming 'Ghost!' all the time."

"The whole place was just abandoned, Robbie. No one just leaves their furniture and china out in the open; even if they were moving," Dipper added. "And it got super cold when I entered."

"When are we leaving?" the teen asked.

"In a few hours. Mabel bailed out on me, and I still need to pack my stuff." Dipper put the bag of Blood Blossoms in his vest pocket as Robbie opened up his bag of popcorn and began to eat.

"Cool. I'll pack a few things, too. If we're going after ghosts, I wanna be ready. Cameras, popcorn, blood, more cameras," Robbie listed, counting his fingers languidly.

Dipper's eyes widened. "Why do you have access to blood?"

The teen merely shrugged. "Anyway," he started, "you go get ready. I'll get my stuff and we'll meet in the cemetery in ten. Cool?'

"Yeah," the boy agreed, nodding his head. "Cool. Just be quick; we've got places to go and ghosts to capture."

So with that adamant farewell, Robbie went back inside and Dipper walked back to the Mystery Shack, feeling much better about how it went. From time to time on the way back, the boy checked his vest pocket to make sure the Blood Blossoms were still there. If he'd lost them, he wouldn't know what to do other than resort to the book and hope the ghost haunting the cabin could be captured in silver mirrors. Those flowers were all he had as a defense against the ghost.

Dipper approached the Mystery Shack and went inside before rushing up the stairs. He shoved the journal inside the backpack, stuffing the Blood Blossom satchel in as well. Because the flashlight was already in there, Dipper zipped up the pockets, shouldered the bag, and went back downstairs.

Dipper knew he would only be out for a few hours, and having already eaten dinner, the boy knew he wouldn't be hungry.

So he went back outside, now on a course to the Gravity Falls local cemetery.

All he needed now was for Robbie to hurry up, then they'd be set for ghost-hunting. For once, Dipper was expecting the ghost; and he wasn't going to do the dance that must never be named.


	4. Chapter 4

The night air was cold, which bit at Dipper's skin. He couldn't help but wonder what was taking Robbie so long. Dipper had wanted a partner, not a setback.

 The cemetery was an eerie place; the taller gravestones were jutting out into the sky like stalagmites. The shorter, more grounded ones were eroded and crumbling with age. Overall, not the most cheery place in Gravity Falls. Dipper would much rather have met up with Robbie at Greasy's Diner, or even the library.

 But those thoughts went completely blank when the boy saw Robbie enter the cemetery gates. The teen was dragging a cloth bag behind him with immense difficulty. "Hey, man, get over here and check this stuff out!" Dipper straightened, adjusting his hat quickly before running over. He peered at the bag, eyes wide with curiosity. "You think the size is cool? Check this puppy out." Robbie pulled out a thin metal rod, only about a foot in length.

 Rust was crawling out from the edges of the metal while the accented green paint had been chipped off in multiple places, making the whole rod look many years old. "Woah," Dipper breathed. "Where'd you find all this stuff?"

 Robbie shoved the rod into the boy's hands before digging around in the sack with multiple sounds of metal scraping together. "What we call 'online markets' don't do justice. All this stuff? They were selling it for twenty bucks flat. It was like a flea market with prices reduced by 50%." The teenager grabbed something and pulled it loose, looking at the rusted gun with a calculating eye. "Supposedly, it was owned by some family of scientists. Egotistical, jumpsuit-wearing nut-cases that went after ghosts." Robbie glanced at Dipper haphazardly. "No offense."

 The boy glared. "None taken," Dipper muttered, tightening his grip on the rod. He inhaled deeply before looking down at the rod in his hands. "What does this do?"

 "Heck, how should I know? You're the ghost expert," Robbie said, closing up the bag. "You keep that; we're going now and you're going to need it."

 Dipper furrowed his brows. "But if you don't know how it works, how do you know that I'll need it?" But instead of answering the boy's question, Robbie began dragging the bag behind him on his way out of the cemetery. Dipper massaged his forehead. "Just pick a weapon and leave the bag here. We'll get it later."

 Robbie rolled his eyes, making a "tch" sound before relenting and getting a gun and a metal belt out of the bag. Dipper went striding ahead of the teen, his hands shoved in his pockets in a feeble attempt to warm them. Nights in Oregon could be chilly, but the last few were perhaps the coldest in a while.

 Robbie caught up, snapping the rusty belt in place around his waist. "So," he began. "Where's this abandoned cabin?"

 "I told you already. East of the Mystery Shack; in the deep dark spooky forest." Dipper glanced down at the rod that was still in his hand. "And I'm gonna learn how to use this."

 The teen snickered. "Good luck with that. It's rusty and old. Having fun with your tetanus?"

 "Shut it, Robbie," Dipper retorted, scowling. "I'm not even hurt. Now, if you actually do what I say and shut up, we might actually get there."

 Robbie raised his arms in surrender. "Fine, kid, geez. You got a lot feistier than the last time I saw you."

 Dipper bit back his original responding words. "Whatever. Hurry up; we don't have all night."

 "Got it."

 Though the boy had wanted to get there swiftly, the trip to the Mystery Shack still took about ten minutes. Dipper had made multiple hand gestures towards the East Forest, letting Robbie know where they had to go. The boy knew they had to be quiet; Mabel and Stan were still awake, though the episode of Duck-Tective was now definitely over. All they had to do was get to the cabin, shoot whatever weapon would work, use some Blood Blossoms, and they would be fine. Robbie would have bragging rights for his friends, and Dipper would have a ghost.

 Dipper was in front, leading the way with his single flashlight. After a bit, the dirt road melted into the grass, disappearing from sight. The trees eventually looked different and foreign.

 "Alright," Dipper started. "We're nearly there." He opened the journal, flipping to the ghost page. He read the words over, again, again. "I'm not losing this chance. Until we know what to do, it's either catch the ghost or die trying."

 "Or bailing, right?" Robbie asked, his thumb pointing behind him. His voice was quivering uncharacteristically. "'Cause I'm not dying when I've got a band to get back to."

 Dipper sighed, facing the teen. "Fine. Or  _you_  can bail. But I'm going after this thing whether anyone likes it or not; I've got a reputation I need to earn back." Dipper jabbed his thumb at his chest. Then he pointed the flashlight ahead, shining the light into the inky darkness of the forest. "And that ghost is gonna do it."

 Robbie furrowed his eyebrows, incredulously looking at the boy. "You're seriously keeping that up, huh? Your claim that ghosts are real?"

 Dipper gaped. "Well, yeah! You were there, at the convenience store. That place was haunted by two ghosts!"

 "Yeah, but..." Robbie paused. Then he shook his head. "Nevermind," he muttered, "Let's just hurry up."

 They hurried, the cold air still biting at any skin not covered by clothing. After just a minute, the clearing appeared. In the center laid the rotting cabin. Dipper internally cringed; the insects were still swarming the wood. Without even glancing at the teen, Dipper knew Robbie was unsettled. In fact, the boy could hear the older kid's heart beating rapidly, practically beating out if his chest.

Carefully, Dipper stepped over the rotting, infested logs that littered the clearing. Robbie tentatively followed, keeping close behind the younger boy.

Dipper carefully walked up the creaky steps that led to the porch, trying to keep his gaze away from the insects that crawled and scattered between the cracks in the dark wood. The boy kept his flashlight trained on the area ahead of him as he stepped onto the porch. He turned the knob, assuming it would be easier to open considering he had been able to do it the night before.

But to his confusion and curiosity, the door was stuck fast; much harder to open than before. Pursing his lips, Dipper leaned against the door, trying to use his weight to force it open.

Nothing. Not even a sound.

Robbie let a smile crawl onto his face. "Well, I guess it's locked. Guess we'll have to leave."

Rust flaked off into his hand just like last time, and Dipper faced Robbie with a stony expression, gesturing towards the door. "We're not leaving. We're getting that door open. C'mon, help me out."

Robbie consented, placing both his palms on the door and leaning heavily against it, attempting to unlodge it. Dipper followed the teen's example, but to no prevail. Once again, it didn't budge.

Dipper stepped back, away from the stuck door. He squinted at the visible hinges on the old door. They weren't rusty. With a start, he realized that whatever was in there didn't want them inside.

The boy grinned.

He jumped off the staircase, over the steps, and onto the dirt to avoid the bugs. He went over to one of the many pane-less windows.

Grasping the edges of the window frame, Dipper hauled himself up and swung one leg over into the house before getting the other inside as well. "Hey, Robbie! I found a way in!" he called, leaning his head out the window to get his voice across to the teen. Dipper watched as the teen leaned away from the door, rubbing his arm and glaring before walking over to the window. "Just climb in."

 "Cool," Robbie grunted as he pulled himself up and into the house. Dipper watched the teen wipe the dust off his hands using his jeans.

 "Yeah, that's not really gonna work," Dipper said, his gaze flitting around the house. The cobwebs were still there, the furniture was still dusty and old. Dipper pursed his lips. "Home sweet home, I guess. For whatever ghost lives here," he murmured. 

 Robbie glanced around at the old things, holding the metal gun by his side. The teen looked down, seeing all the dust that had been wiped off the coated floor by his shoes. He scowled at the dust that now covered his clothes.

 Dipper was still looking around, his flashlight's yellow illumination bathing everything in a sinister glow. Flurries of dust seemed to plume up every time the boy took a step, and the boards creaked under his weight. Even the air seemed stale, and it was hard to breathe with all the particles floating around. He made his way into the kitchen, feeling goosebumps crawl up his arms from the cold. "Hey Robbie?" he said, his voice fairly loud in the silent house. "Are you cold? 'Cause it's  _freezing_  in here."

 Dipper waited for a response. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. About a minute.

 Silence.  

 "Robbie, don't mess with me," Dipper muttered, his voice still audible throughout the cabin. "We're ghost hunting, not pranking." He glanced around uncertainly before shaking his head slightly.  _The cold must be getting to me._

Dipper looked at the china that was still frozen in place. His gaze drifted over to the door on the other side of the kitchen. It was wide open, letting Dipper see the descending steps that lie inside. Dipper knew Robbie wasn't going to pop out and scare him. He knew the teen wouldn't start screaming bloody murder. Because Robbie was gone.

 "Ghost," he murmured, "I know you did something to him. Where'd you put him?" The only thing that happened was a decrease in temperature.

  _Get out._

 A silvery mist seeped in through the cracks in the kitchen tiles. Like it wasn't affected by gravity, it streamed upward before taking the vague shape of a person, slightly taller than Dipper. Dipper took a few steps back as his flashlight flickered on and off before extinguishing permanently. No matter how many times he jabbed at the switch, it didn't turn back on. The only light that remained belonged to the ghost; a bright white that almost burned to look at.

  _Get out,_ the ghost repeated.

 Dipper attempted to hide his fear, scowling at the silvery silhouette. "Uh, can I say no?"

  _Get out._

 Dipper raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say that already? And I'm pretty sure I  _didn't_ listen to you?"

  _Get out._

 It sounded like a broken record, one that was forced to repeat itself over and over again in a never-ending cycle of meaningless words that always fell on deaf ears. Tentatively, Dipper stepped forward. "What are you?" he asked.

_Get out._

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Who are you?" he muttered. The ghost said nothing. With a start, Dipper realized it was the wrong question to ask. "Okay, sorry, who  _were_  you?"

_**GET OUT!** _

 Dipper jumped back with a yelp as a toxic green fire exploded from the cracks in the kitchen tile. The fire flared and grew multiple feet tall, the heat burning Dipper's arms. He glanced around rapidly. Everything was on fire. Everything burned with a sickly green glare, the heat burning away at the rotting logs, the dust singeing away on contact. The boy felt the smoke fill his lungs as he struggled to breathe. His struggled breathing turned to coughing before shifting to choking. He grabbed his shirt, pulling it up over his mouth and nose, attempting to lessen the smoke getting in his lungs. Tears streamed from his eyes as they burned from the searing heat of the fire. Dipper's heart pounded out of his chest...until he noticed something.

His skin wasn't burnt. It hurt, yes, but it didn't burn and turn to black.  _It's an illusion,_ he realized. His eyes widened despite the heat and he looked around, shirt still firmly over his face. With a start, he remembered.  _Blood Blossoms._

He struggled to get his vest open with one hand, getting the blue satchel out of his vest pocket. Panting, Dipper had to let go of his shirt to open it up, pulling it open and exposing the closed vials of the flowers inside. There was an immediate reaction. The huge fire died down to green embers, and the heat was now almost nonexistent. The smoke dissipated and Dipper inhaled and coughed, sucking in the stale (but smoke-free) air greedily. The opened bag of Blood Blossoms had done this. Dipper began to begrudgingly agree with Robbie; they were powerful flowers.

Dipper straightened up, beads of sweat dripping down his face. He kept the bag open as he glanced around, trying to find his flashlight with the light from the few remaining green embers. He found it and picked it up with shaky hands. He flicked it on. To his dismay, the flashlight remained off. Dipper sighed.  _I just got new batteries, too._

 The boy eyed the basement steps, which descended into the inky darkness of the downstairs chambers. By this point, the green embers had extinguished, making everything dark. But Dipper could see a faint green glow from in the basement, the hue illuminating the steps and part of the visible wall.

 Dipper swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath before walking cautiously toward the staircase. The Blood Blossoms in his hand kept shaking along with the rest of him as he placed his hand on the stair railing. With a jump, he pulled back, feeling the chipping and flaky wood peeling off at his touch. The boy shuddered, gritting his teeth as a deep chill flowed over him. Dipper's gaze shifted to the glowing hue on the steps.

 He sucked in a breath of air before grabbing onto the railing tightly, attempting to give himself confidence. Dipper walked down the stairs, each step giving a creaky groan. Each step was like a gamble; whether it would collapse or not was up to chance.

 After what seemed like an hour, Dipper reached the base of the steps. The bright green light quickly receded as he stepped off the staircase, presumably to get away from the deadly flowers that were safely inside the satchel.

 There were strange sounds coming from within the light. They were soft but seemed to be made in a way that was upsetting, with short, choppy pauses between each one. Dipper risked a step forward but froze when the sounds grew louder with his footstep. With a start, the boy finally recognized the sound.

 The weak, painful sobs continued as the light dimmed further, bathing the dusty metal and tables with a soft green glow. Though reluctantly, Dipper drew the bag's drawstrings closed, the Blood Blossoms once again being hidden inside the satchel. He tucked the satchel safely into his vest.

 The light didn't strengthen, though the sobbing did stop slightly to the point where Dipper could hear the quiet pleas.

  _Get out, get out, get out..._

 The ghost repeated those words without vigor, once again becoming like a broken record. Dipper patted down his pockets before checking his vest. He pulled out the metal rod, placing his thumb over the faded red button threateningly. "Alright," he announced, "Tell me. What did you do with Robbie?" The ghost was silent, its sobs now completely gone.

  _Robbie who?_

 "Valentino." From what little things Dipper could tell from the light, the ghost shook its head.

  _Valentino,_ it spoke, as if testing out the name.  _Cowardice teen. Ran away, into the forest. Current status? Terrified and very much lost._

 "Who were you?" Dipper demanded. The ghost seemed to shiver in its spot on the floor.

  _Not a good thing to talk about. My body... it's still here._

 The boy tried to suppress the shudder that made its way up his spine. "I-in this house?"

 The ghost seemed to smile.  _No, no. Gross. I'm still alive somewhere._  It began to rise slowly, pushing itself to a standing position.  _I must find him. He took me._

 Those answers were far too vague for Dipper's liking. "Who took you?" he pressed. "What the heck are you talking about?" Even though he had asked the question, Dipper wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer, especially when the ghost turned to stare into the boy's eyes.

 They were a poisonous green, and they glowed like radioactive acid. It rose its hand to its face, sticking up its pointer finger. It pressed the finger to its lips and made a shushing sound that echoed throughout the basement.  _Secrets, secrets,_  it spoke, its lips not moving once.  _It's all we ever have. But if you must know..._ It smiled, its face abnormally innocent.  _Well, that's for another day._

 With that, the ghost let its finger fall away from its lips as Dipper lowered the rod against his will. His eyelids turned heavy and his limbs ached. His mind shut down, ready for sleep. After only a few seconds of fighting it off, he succumbed to the awaiting darkness, letting the blissful unconsciousness claim him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mention of assumed self-harm-related scars in this chapter. If the mere mention of scars resulting in assumed self-harm unsettles or sickens you, skip to the end of the chapter, where there will be a summary of everything important that had happened in the chapter. Thank you for reading.

Dipper opened his eyes to his and Mabel's room, everything bathed in a bright morning orange that flooded in through the window. He forced himself up, lazily rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 The boy was about to slide out of bed when confusion hit him. He was wearing clothes that were actually made for sleeping; not at all like the regular orange-red shirt that he always wore. But strangely, it seemed to fit him fine, just like any of his other clothes.

 After that, the boy's gaze was drawn to something in the room; a new door that was located near the foot of his bed. Though his mind told him to be wary of the new, seemingly random door, his curiosity was peaking. Dipper slid out of bed and, although cautiously, crept towards it. He stood in front of the new door with a strange sort of anxiousness. It seemed old. Once Dipper realized that, it occurred to him that  _everything_  seemed old, like the room itself was slowly falling apart with age. The corners contained dust, and the visible rafters had cobwebs hanging off of them.

 It was unsettling, and a cold feeling rose up his throat. His stomach felt uneasy and light. But the boy nonetheless grabbed the slightly rusty knob of the new door and turned it, peeking into what contents hid behind the door.

 His nervousness drained away when all he found were the innards of a closet.  _His_ closet, it seemed.

 There were shirts hanging up on clothes hangers while his shorts were folded and placed in the corner. Copies of his shoes took up the rest of the space.

Everything was neat and orderly, unlike how Dipper's belongings were usually stored.

He glanced at the only other door in the room; the one that led to the rest of the shack. Without another thought, he left the room, going downstairs without so much as a question.

When Dipper reached the base of the steps, the smell of pancakes and maple syrup seemed to seep into existence. He glanced across the room at Mabel, who was sitting down and eating in the kitchen. He walked over, giving a confused look at the food and Mabel's strange obedience.

 Stan's pancakes (which the man called Stan-cakes) were usually horrible, containing hair and toenail clippings, but right now, Mabel was eating them with no complaint. They even  _looked_ appetizing for once, each side smooth, and colored a perfect golden brown. And usually, the girl was standing up in her seat or sitting on the table while she was making something that included twelve containers of glitter and/or stickers.

 But instead, here she sat, completely still while she ate. When Dipper walked into the kitchen, her eyes raised from her food. "Good morning, Dipper," she greeted simply.

 That was unusual as well. Mabel usually screamed her "good morning" at the top of her lungs. She would grin, showing off her braces. Dipper felt a wrongness nestle down at the base of his stomach.

 "G'morning, Mabel," he muttered cautiously, moving to sit next to his sibling. He felt oddly uncomfortable around her. Stan, as well.

 Speaking of Stan, the old man was silent, and uncomfortably so. His suit was prim and proper, very unlike how he usually was in the morning. Everything seemed out of place.

 Mabel smiled at her brother expectantly, and Dipper wasn't sure what to do. He stayed silent, fidgeting anxiously with his hands. They felt oddly empty. "Um... It's a nice day out," Dipper began nervously, glancing out the window. It was when he went to open his journal that he realized it was missing from his grasp. "Oh, I've gotta go get something," he said quickly, getting up. "Be right back."

 Going through the living room, Dipper hurried up the stairs and went into his shared room. Looking around, he checked on his bed, in his new closet, and the bedside drawer. The journal was nowhere. Dipper expected himself to break down, or rip out his hair, or even start going into a panic attack right then. But he didn't worry. He didn't even feel the extreme anxiety or nervousness that he would surely have felt if he were to lose that journal.

 But as quickly as he had gotten up the stairs, the missing journal slipped entirely from his mind.  _Well, now that I'm up here, I might as well shower and stuff._ He got a set of clothes out and put them on his bed before going into the bathroom. Glancing at the mirror, Dipper's gaze went right to his bandaged arms. He set one arm flat on the counter and carefully peeled the wrapping off, some of the dried blood coming off with it. He hissed in pain, pausing for a second when the pain spiked through his arm.

The wounds had closed, but they weren't the same. Instead of punctures, they were the healed scars of cuts, up and down his arms. His breathing quickened; he didn't know what happened. He shook his head as if attempting to righten his vision. Instead, the cuts remained; ones that weren't his. His gaze flitted back to his other arm. Knowing he would need to unwrap it anyway, Dipper started peeling the bandages off, away from his bloodied skin.

 When he finished, he dropped the bloody bandages in the trashcan. Then, almost reluctantly, he looked back at the mirror. He didn't have gauze pressed to his temples. Raising an arm, Dipper didn't feel anything like blood or even a bruise. The head injuries were gone. An anxious smile broke out on his face.  _Am I going crazy? I thought..._  his train of thought trailed off. Pursing his lips, Dipper brushed it off. He took his shower, scrubbing roughly at the blood on his arms. 

 While his arms went on autopilot, his mind was deep in thought. He didn't know what to do next, lost as to what needed to be done and how to do it.  _Robbie's house?_ Perhaps.  _Do I investigate what's going on?_ Maybe.  _Am I actually going insane?_ Probably not.

 Dipper finished up and quickly got dressed. He took his hat off the dresser and comfortably fixed it onto his head before going downstairs, vest and shoes securely on. Dipper stepped into the kitchen, seeing Mabel still smiling wordlessly at him. There was now a plate of pancakes sitting in the middle of the dining table, and Dipper took a pancake from the top of the stack.

 "I'm gonna go outside," he announced to his sister. Dipper glanced haphazardly at Grunkle Stan, who was standing in front of the stove, his back straight and his whole form tense. Almost reluctantly, Dipper turned around and started walking, under the curtain and through the gift shop with a pancake in hand.

 After leaving the Mystery Shack, Dipper walked down the dirt path, carefully eating his breakfast.  _For once,_  he thought simply,  _it's actually pretty good._ He followed the road towards Robbie's house. The teen had been there at the cabin with him, of course. This weird world maybe wouldn't have affected him.

 But as Dipper walked down the street, he noticed multiple strange things that made themselves known to him. They were simple things, ones that wouldn't have any effect on living, but they popped out at him nonetheless. There was a strange, new and foreign look to everything, but at the same time, it seemed older and familiar. Like the sleepy town of Gravity Falls had turned into a soon-to-be city, but it was falling apart with age and decay.

 Though the town itself was different, it didn't stop Dipper from coming to the conclusion that even Mabel and Stan were just as foreign to him.  _They're acting different,_  Dipper decided.  _They're not the same._ Dipper started to feel the heat of stress reaching the back of his neck. The stress of not knowing how to deal with something. The stress of being in a completely new position and being  _alone._  Then his emotions seemed to reset; the upcoming stress being wiped clean from his brain, leaving him calm and level-headed. He finished off his food and continued to Robbie's house, no longer taking in the differing details of the town.

 After only a minute of walking, Dipper found himself looking up at the door to Robbie's house. He vaguely recalled how it took much longer than a single minute to walk from the Mystery Shack to the Valentino's funeral home. He knocked a few times before taking a step back, his arms now at his sides as he waited, his gaze becoming unfocused as he stared intently at a crack in the house's wood, nothing particular making him think as he let his mind wander.

 The door opened, snapping Dipper back into reality. Robbie stood in the doorway, his posture lax. Dipper couldn't help but notice small details. The teen seemed almost  _too_ relaxed, and even then, there was a tenseness in his form that Dipper hazily recalled. But the boy stayed silent as Robbie grinned wholeheartedly.

 "Hey, Dipper!" As quickly as it had shown up, his smile fell. "What's up? Why're you here?"

 When the boy actually thought about it, it was a good question to ask. Dipper shrugged, his hands finding their way into his short pockets. "Felt compelled, I guess," he said uselessly. "You wanna go get some food?" The random words spilled from his lips before he even thought to process them. 

 And just as fast as Dipper asked, Robbie grinned, shutting the door behind him and slipping a wallet from his jeans, holding it up joyfully with two fingers. "Sure, dude! I'll pay."

 They walked side by side to Greasy's Diner, both completely silent. Dipper, although he felt pressured to, didn't say a thing about the differences of Gravity Falls, nor did he ask Robbie why he seemed so happy and carefree.

 Dipper pushed open the glass door, waiting for Robbie to walk through. Before he had let the door closed on its own, he spotted two women in dresses, very obviously walking towards the diner.

 One woman had a light blue dress that went down to her ankles, a thick white ribbon sewed around the midsection. Her features were more pronounced and sharp, with high cheekbones and thin arms. Her elbows jutted out. Her dirty blond hair went down to her lower back and was held away from her face with a white kerchief. 

 The other was clad in yellow, the creased and folded cloth coming down to her knees. Her face, though pale and young, had an ageless appear to it. She could've been in her early twenties, or even pass for sixteen. Her thin, silky black hair looked unkempt and knotted.

Dipper kept the door open for them as the walked inside, both the women giving him grateful smiles.

 The woman in yellow bent over slightly, handing Dipper a little plastic card. "Thank you," she muttered quietly, just under her breath. "I suggest you finish your meal up quickly and meet me at the graveyard in thirty minutes. We have something important to talk about."

 Dipper was silent, merely waiting patiently for her to continue before he shut the door. Giving the woman one last glance, the boy went over to sit in a booth chair across from Robbie, his mind blank as he slipped the card in his vest pocket. If the teen noticed the little exchange at the door, he didn't show it, instead simply reading through the menu items while Dipper started messing with a pen that was accidentally left on the table.

 The waitress came over. "Why, hello," Lazy Susan greeted, a smile on her face. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes the way it should have. "What can I get you two?"

 "The usual," Dipper said, his gaze still fixed on the pen.

 Robbie put a finger to his chin. "I'll have the cheesy fries."

 Lazy Susan gave another smile and sauntered back into the kitchen, their order in hand. Dipper uncapped the pen absentmindedly, getting a bit of ink on his finger. "You didn't say anything about the scars," the boy started abruptly. "Why is that?"

 Robbie seemed to be taken off-guard. "Huh? Scars?"

 Dipper stared at him, unimpressed. "My arms are layered in scars, yet throughout the ten minutes you've spent with me today, you haven't once brought it up. I find that concerning."

 The teen pursed his lips, now very obviously nervous. "Well, I figured you wouldn't want me to ask, considering you had bandages on yesterday, and you seemed kind of... off."

 That didn't sit well with the boy. Robbie wasn't concerned with changes in his personality, and even if he was, he didn't go right out and say it. Dipper's gaze went back to the pen, getting a napkin from the stack in the center of the table. "And somehow, I can tell you're lying. You would notice how the blood was showing up." He wrote multiple words down on the napkin, unconcerned. "It was in spots, on both arms. Not in streaks."

 Dipper took the time to hold up one arm, tracing a white and puckered scar that went from his wrist to his inner elbow. "These scars are not mine. My injuries are punctures that aren't even healed yet. My head isn't hurt; there isn't even a scratch or a bruise." His gaze went back to his written words.

 After a second of reading over, he spun the napkin around and pushed it over in front of Robbie. The words, which were in scratchy blue ink, read  _Do you know your name?_

 Robbie's eyebrows knitted together. "What kind of question is that?" Dipper pressed a finger to his lips; a silent message of  _shut up_. The teen pursed his lips. "It's Robbie."

 "Last name," Dipper demanded.

 Lazy Susan, with their food in her hands, sauntered up to the table. "Oh hey, it's our food," Robbie stated, a smile of relief appearing on his face.

 Dipper's face heated up with annoyance, anger crawling up his throat. But once again, a feeling of numbness washed over him, cooling his anger. "Yup. Our food," the boy muttered.

 "Here you go, boys," Lazy Susan said, sliding their food onto the table. "Eat up!" She gave another sweet, tense smile before going off, taking another order.

 They ate silently, not one word being spoken between them. As Dipper took a bite of his food, he took the plastic card out of his vest pocket. The words were printed in black ink, bearing a cursive font that made the card look old and eldritch. There was a name in the center, along with a phone number and an address. Dipper swallowed. "Hey Robbie, I'm gonna have to go. I have somewhere I need to be."

 Robbie flashed him a thumbs-up. "No problem, dude. See you later?"

 Dipper simply nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll... I'll see you later." Eyes still fixed on the card, the boy stood up and strode quickly out of the diner. He knew where the graveyard was. If anything, this was his first lead to finding out what was happening, what was making him feel so wrong and uneasy. He needed to find out why nothing was the same.

 It didn't take long for him to get there, but when he did, his heart felt heavy with anxiety.  There was the woman, clad in a simple yellow dress with thin, tangled black hair. The woman was sitting on a wooden bench in front of a weathered gravestone. Her expression was blank and unreadable.

 Reluctantly, Dipper walked over to her, his shoulders tense. When he was standing next to the bench, he was unsure of whether to sit down or not. He held the plastic card between two fingers and held it out for her to see that he had it. "You asked me to come," he began. "Now I'm here. What did you want?"

 The woman's expression stayed neutral as she patted the space next to her on the bench. "Things are not as they seem in this world," she murmured to him, her gaze shifting back to the grave. "People are different and buildings are falling apart. Everything is different." 

 Dipper, almost against his own will, replied. "No, the town has always been like this," he said. "People change, but they're still the same." But deep down in the pit of his stomach, he knew that wasn't true. Mabel changed in a way that she would  _never_ change, not even if she were deprived of human contact for  _years._  Grunkle Stan had been prim that morning; something the old man would never do.

 "This isn't right," she insisted, her blue eyes flitting over the multiple graves. "This world is wrong." She looked him in the eyes. "You've noticed it, too." She leaned closer, seemingly desperate for the boy to understand. "You know there's something wrong with this world. The others accepted and forgot, but I didn't. You haven't yet, you haven't just accepted it."

 Once again, Dipper found himself correcting her. "You must be confused," the boy said. "Maybe you left town for a few years before coming back; people are usually confused when things change drastically to their hometown. Or any familiar town, really."

 The woman's eyes were wide. "No, you need to understand; we're all trapped here. You have to leave, boy."

 Dipper couldn't help but ask "Who? Who's trapped?"

 "Everyone," she hissed. "Me, you, everyone. We're all trapped in this world." She had leaned so closely that Dipper had to scoot away a little. The woman gasped, sitting straight up, muttering under her breath as she fidgeted with her hands.

 It took Dipper a few seconds to realize her mutterings were apologies. "No no, it's fine," the boy said, his body tense. "It's completely fine."

 The woman's muttering stopped after that, instead choosing to continue their conversation. "It trapped us, boy," she said.

 "Who trapped you?" Dipper urged.

 "The ghost," she said, weaving her fingers together in her lap as she gazed numbly at the weathered grave in front of them. "It trapped us in this  _nightmare,_  where nothing is the same. Nothing is right."

 Dipper recalled his scars, the ones that were so unlike his own injuries. "But why?" he asked, glancing at her as she slouched down in the bench. "Why would it trap you here?"

 "We trespassed," she admitted. "It took us, trapped us." She glanced up, staring at the grey sky. "In this world." Her gaze flickered to the boy's face, and she leaned towards him so suddenly that Dipper thought he was going to get hit. "But you can help us." A thin smile crawled up her ageless face. "You can," she whispered, her voice quivering. "You can help us."

 Dipper's eyebrows knitted together in a fit of confusion. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

 "You're new," she hissed, "You can escape before you're tricked into believing."

 Dipper ran a hand over his face. "I don't understand," he said in a pleading tone. "Stop speaking so vaguely."

 "You can escape before you believe everything in this world is real," she said as if everything made perfect sense. "You can help us."

 It seemed oddly familiar; the repeating of words, that is. A distant memory tugged at the back of Dipper's mind, and he strained it, trying to give it clarity. "I'm not sure how to do that," Dipper admitted quietly. "I don't know what to do or how to do it." His gaze went to his hands, and he found himself taking handfuls of his shirt, squeezing the fabric out of stress. "How am I supposed to escape if I don't know how to do it?" he asked, his voice as straight as he could get it. Even then, there was a stressed and pleading undertone.

 "There is a door," she muttered quietly, her gaze shifting beyond the gravestones. "I can't see it, not anymore." She glanced over at the boy. "But you can. You don't have anyone holding you back, not yet."

 He didn't ask about the door. Or where it was located. "Then why couldn't you leave before?" Dipper asked. "Why couldn't you escape when you could see it?"

 The woman looked at her fidgeting hands once more. "I'm believing; it's tricking me, trapping me here. But you can leave; you can escape and find a way to help us." With each passing second, her words seemed even more desperate. It felt almost worse when she didn't look at him anymore.

 Dipper's lips thinned to a line. He didn't want to be trapped here. Not in this world, where he was alone with figments of some ghost's nightmare. He couldn't even think of living there for more than a day. "Where's the door?"

 "Usually where you first wake up," the woman murmured. "It shows up, and seemingly leads to nowhere."

  _That's how people get trapped._  The thought came randomly. But this time, the door was obvious to him. "I have a new door in my room, one that wasn't there before." He tried looking her in the eyes, but her black hair was hanging down and obstructing her face. "I think that's the door."

 The woman simply nodded. "Now you have to run. It will try to stop you."

 He felt a hand on his shoulder, and his blood went cold. His breathing was hindered by fear, and he wasn't sure whether to look behind him or not, because to him, it seemed like death was right around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> Dipper finds himself in a world that is not his own, where things are the same, but just barely different enough to raise his anxiety. But even then, his emotions wash away at certain points. His injuries are different and even gone, and the people who he once knew are acting strangely. It's as if they're looking around in case something, anything, were to attack them.
> 
> He had woken up in his room, where a new door was placed, seemingly just a simple closet. A black-haired woman (who was walking into Greasy's Diner with another person, presumably her sister) gave him a card that resembled a business card and told him to come to the graveyard for a conversation. She explains how everyone in that world was trapped because they had trespassed, and were being kept there by the ghost.
> 
> She tells him that there's a way out; a door which only he can see, because he hadn't yet believed that world to be the reality, unlike everyone who was trapped there. She claimed that "they had forgotten" and that was why they couldn't leave. She also told him that the ghost would try to stop him.
> 
> The chapter ends with Dipper's shoulder being clasped in a cold, painfully tight grip, and him being unable to run from the black-haired woman and her sister.


	6. Chapter 6

 "Ah, my dear sister, how did I know to look for you here?" The stiff, cold voice made the hairs on the back of Dipper's neck stand on end. The boy could feel the woman's hand tighten painfully on his shoulder, a burning sensation seething in the back of his head. It seemed as if she was trying to burn a hole through him with only her eyes.

The black-haired woman didn't look up, merely staring down at her weaved hands.

"Come now, sister. Now is not the time to play the quiet game. It is time for us to go home." Again, the black-haired woman stayed silent. Dipper felt a burning coldness seep through his body. The boy took a slow, shaky breath, terrified that if he did any more than that, the woman standing behind him would rip the skin away, off of his shoulder.

 His body was rigid, and his eyes were staring right at the black-haired woman, his gaze pleading and desperate. His silent words were obvious.  _Help me._  But the woman didn't even look up from her hands.

 Dipper's muscles seized up when sharp, jagged nails pierced into his skin. His throat closed up, and he found himself unable to move, unable to think. His mind was screaming at him.  _You're going to die._  Another bony, freezing hand encircled his neck, the woman's nails gripping tightly at his neck, sinking them in. He couldn't breathe.

 The black-haired woman let out an inhuman screech as she flung herself at whoever was holding onto him. The pressure died, leaving him gasping, trying to blink away the growing black spots in his vision. The sound of screaming filled his ears, but the boy was frozen. He couldn't move; he didn't  _want_  to move. He didn't want to turn around and risk seeing whatever had pierced his shoulder and bruised his neck.

 But, against his will, he turned, wet eyes wide, as he saw an inky black void in the vague shape of a person. The edges were too washed away, too melded with the world, but Dipper could clearly see that whatever it was, it was trying to act human. The black-haired woman had pinned the void's assumed wrists to the ground and sat on top of it's back, rendering it unable to rise. The woman howled in pain as the thing seemed to melt away under her, into the grass that had died on contact with the void.

 The black-haired woman armlessly forced herself up, looking at her hands with obvious disgust. Dipper saw them, coated in angry red, oozing blisters that were steaming and bubbling. Her skin seemed so close to melting right off her fingers, right into the dead, sizzling grass. Dipper resisted the strong urge to vomit. The woman turned to him, her lifeless black eyes just visible through the thin strands of her hair. "You need to leave. Now. It will try to stop you."

 Dipper snapped out of his stupor, almost falling gracelessly off the bench as he struggled to get over to her. "Are you okay?" he rasped, his throat still tight with fear. 

 "It will try to stop you," she repeated. "You need to leave."

 The boy was torn, but before he could even think, he was running out of the graveyard. Everything blurred around him, making him dizzy and uncoordinated. His lungs and legs burned, and each breath the boy took had instead been an ineffective, desperate gasp.

 He felt coldness grasp his leg, pulling him, forcing him down. Dipper's eyes widened, his heart beating out of his chest and his lungs refusing to work. He feebly kicked at the rotting, bloody hand, trying to scramble away. But it held fast, the skinless hand piercing its bones into his ankle. He dug his fingers into the dirt, trying to force himself away, to crawl out of its grasp, even if it tore his skin off.

 The ground trembled beneath him, another hand joining the first, grappling at Dipper's other leg. He kicked at it, trying even more desperately to claw at the dirt and unlodge his leg from the first hand's grasp.

 The ground was breaking apart, more rotting fingers grabbing and pulling him into the earth. The grass, now dead, took on a jello-y property, his fingers and legs and hands sinking into the ground. His whole body was a struggling, flailing mess, grabbing at every little thing he could force his fingers into, to escape.

 But he couldn't. It was swallowing him, the dirt acting like wet sand and keeping his arms elbow-deep in the ground. He couldn't run; couldn't escape. A blackness seeped into his vision, from the edges, slowing creeping inward.

 His strength dwindled, fading away, but he still tried to fight. His efforts were in vain.

 All of a sudden, there was a loud, eldritch, piercing wail. There were layers, tones, voices, so much screaming all at once that came from the blackness consuming him. Something snagged the back of his shirt collar, pulling him away.

 The ground, hands, and shadows quivered, seeming to recede, letting the boy be dragged out by whatever was doing so. The boy once again found his cheeks wet and his vision blurred. His gaze snapped up to his savior.

 The teen was skinny and pale, night-black hair covering his eyes. From what Dipper could see, they were a cold, stinging ice blue. But the teen helped him up, dragging the boy to his feet. Dipper wasn't even sure if he could stand. The boy didn't have the breath to thank him.

 But as quickly as he was standing, he started hearing the wailing again, and he couldn't speak. With newfound adrenaline coursing through his veins and sweat coating his neck, Dipper bolted off despite his discoordination, stumbling over almost everything on the sidewalk.

 He could almost feel the glaring gazes of the other people, their eyes burning into his back as his feet went from asphalt to dirt. Dipper's eyes were on only one thing; the front door to the Mystery Shack. He didn't slow down, even when he rushed up the steps, halfway slamming his body into the door. His hands grappled at the knob, trying to turn it and get inside, but it was stuck fast; locked. Anxiety overwhelmed his senses.

 He glanced through the window of the door and saw his sister staring back at him with the biggest grin he'd ever seen her wear. Dipper recoiled away from the door, his teeth gritted. He was on the verge of hyperventilation. He needed to get inside—he needed to leave. Without even thinking, he ran around to the left side of the house.

 He stopped at the closest window, grabbing hold of the edge. His arm reared back and punched straight through the glass. The boy gasped, surprised that it had actually worked like he'd thought. But it burned like fire where the glass embedded into his hand.

 He dropped inside through the broken window, falling gracelessly into the house. He forced himself up; he could almost hear the boiling of the grass from outside as a toned wailing began blasting throughout the Shack. Dipper covered his ears as best he could with his hurt hand, but even then he could hear Mabel's sickly-sweet tone.

 "Dipper!"

 He saw her, coming through the curtains draped over the doorway to the gift shop. The edges of her smile reached up, almost through her eyes—its whole face ripped apart at the seam that was its mouth. Rows and rows of dripping, razor teeth lined the inside of its bloody maw. Its eyes were cut in halves as to make way for more of the "mouth" to split open, and the boy could see every nerve inside of them. 

 His hand slapped over his mouth as he ran upstairs, trying desperately to breathe again. There were heavy smashing sounds coming from right behind him; it was giving chase, crushing each and every stair. The steps seemed endless, and Dipper was just about ready to stop and fall head-first back down the stairs despite his fear of what had happened the first time. But he kept going, forcing himself to not slow down.

 His stomach roiled and his muscles burned intensely. He still couldn't breathe. But he climbed up the last few steps, scrambling into his room. He slammed the door shut, twisting the lock. He flung himself around, collapsing against the door behind him.

 He couldn't hear the sounds anymore. He could finally breathe, and though the boy was gasping and choking on the air, he could  _breathe._  Dipper felt a burning in the back of his eyes that matched the burning in his lungs, but he swallowed back his tears. He forced himself up, limping towards his closet. He twisted the knob and pulled it open. Before the boy, were stairs. Old, dusty, wooden stairs that led up. He couldn't tell where they led to, or if they were even the way back home. He didn't want to see.

 But he also didn't want to be  _here_  anymore. And even though he was leaving, he was scared. In fact, Dipper was terrified. His mind couldn't help but go to the worst possible scenarios. 

_What if he never frees the others?_

_Is Mabel okay?_

_What if this was all a dream?_

_What if this world stays like this forever?_

_...Is there really no one who can be trusted?_

 Dipper pushed the thoughts aside and walked up the stairs, slamming the closet door behind him. The closet, it seemed, was the same as the rest of the world he had left behind; fake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get this in before we lost power due to the upcoming hurricane. Sorry I didn't finish it earlier. I had to redo the chapter because I was unhappy with how it went and how the characters were to act. Before, it was going in a totally different place that didn't fit with the overall arc. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

The boy slammed the door shut behind him, averting his eyes away from the wood. Dipper didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to think about what lay beyond it. He was tired.

 So he didn't. He turned around and stalked away, ignoring the TV and the couches that were still covered in dust. Through his exhaustion, Dipper dully recognized this place as the cabin in the woods. But still, he didn't stop and pause to ponder. He merely left, opening and then closing the door behind him without another thought. 

 The air was chilling compared to the innards of the cabin. Now that he realized that, he recalled the place being much colder and less inviting. This was a curious thing indeed.

As he walked, Dipper slowly realized certain things. His arms were still covered in jagged, healed scars. He still no longer felt the pull of any gauze pads stuck to his temples. The pain in his ankles and legs remained but had faded into a dull throbbing. The boy as unsure if these injuries (and the absence of others) were permanent, but if they were, he'd have trouble finding out how to be rid of them. If he couldn't do that, the least he could do was hide them.

 If he didn't, questions would surely be asked. But he couldn't just answer them in a simple "yes or no" fashion. It seemed that the whole ordeal had many layers. First was the outside: the part you see first. Without digging too deep, you could believe that the first layer was all that was there; that there was nothing more than the layer itself.

 But Dipper had gone much deeper. The physical, the psychological, the emotional. All he needed was the sense. Where was the sense in all this? It seemed as if the world he had once been in had been fabricated using incorrect information. Of course, the basics were there, but the specifics were lost to improvisation.

 Dipper's arms were obviously injured, but the way the world had shown those injuries were all wrong.

 Robbie was tolerant of the boy, but their relationship was hardly beyond knowing each other and being part-time rivals.

 Grunkle Stan was a loud, boisterous, and arguably lazy old man. But the way he had simply stood there, still and wordless, left a bad taste in Dipper's mouth.

 Mabel was there but was instead very obviously incorrect. Not just in her demeanor, or her voice, or her smile.  _Everything_  about her seemed wrong. She quite simply didn't belong.

 The way her mouth unhinged and her eyes split apart haunted him. That wasn't Mabel, and not one person could make that mistake. And yet her face was still the same, young girl that he'd grown up alongside with for his whole life. A light, natural blush, roundish face, and dark brown eyes.

 Dipper blinked, finding himself standing in front of the door to the Mystery Shack. His gaze went to the knob, which he gripped and turned, letting himself inside. The door squeaked on its hinges, causing the boy to jump at the noise. Heart beating wildly, he slowly closed it, locking it behind him.

 Without anyone awake, the Shack felt hollow and empty. As it was his own home, it was an unnerving feeling. He forced himself to take deeper breaths in an attempt to calm his fears.

 He tried to make his footsteps as silent as possible as he went up the stairs, but there were still multiple creaks that split the silent air, making him freeze after each one on his way up.

 After what seemed like an hour, the boy reached his shared bedroom. What drew his attention, however, was the faint light that was glowing from inside the room. It was shining through the space under the door and through the cracks between it and its frame. His gaze shot back to the center of the door as he heard something. Sniffs and small sobs. 

 Dipper turned the knob and entered the room, silently shutting the door behind him. He cringed when he saw the source of the crying. Of course, it was Mabel. Her back was to Dipper, but it was obvious enough to the boy that she had been like that for at least a half hour. Waddles was tucked under one of her arms as she hugged onto him like he was a stuffed animal. 

 The light was coming from an oil-fueled lantern on the table beside her bed.

 He couldn't tell why, but he was nervous to ask her what was wrong. He wasn't sure if it because of the hollowness of the house, or the cold atmosphere, but he was scared to bother her. Dipper inhaled with the intention to speak, but the words died in his throat.

 He breathed deeply for just a bit longer, just standing in the middle of the room, unsure of whether or not to do anything. It seemed wrong. He realized he was being cowardice. Reluctantly, Dipper took a few steps closer to the girl. "Mabel?" he whispered. Her crying stopped immediately. 

 She turned to look at him with red-stricken eyes and blotchy cheeks where tears were still flowing. Another sob spilled from her throat as she sat up and flung her arms around Dipper, pinning his arms to his sides. Dipper was frozen in place as he listened to Mabel's sobbing. Slowly, he placed his hands on her back, returning the hug. "What happened?" he asked, his voice a soft whisper.

 Mabel shook her head, her sobs turned to hiccups. Dipper understood her unwillingness to speak. Emotions were hard to decrypt and even harder to deal with. Sometimes, actions spoke much louder than words, and the boy knew that something had to have been seriously wrong to make Mabel act so clingy toward him at that moment.

 The hug lasted longer than he would've liked, but he didn't fight against her. He knew she needed this.

 It took a while for her to fall asleep. When her grip on the back of his shirt slackened, he carefully maneuvered her off of him, letting her down gently in the bed. It took him perhaps a minute to get her off without waking her. 

 Dipper let himself down onto the floor as he sat back on his heels, just staring blankly at the air in front of him. His gaze shifted from the floor, then to Mabel, and then to his scars. His brain was full, and yet he couldn't think. He was tired, hurt, and emotionally spent.

 He forced himself up and crawled into his bed, not even bothering with taking off his vest or his hat. Letting out an exhale of relief, he closed his eyes. Of course, by the time he woke up the following day, he had explaining to do and problems to figure out. Perhaps another episode of  _Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained_  was in need of production. With those simple thoughts, he let himself sleep. For once, his nightmares were gone.

 

 

 Morning came all too soon. Dipper forced himself up, despite his lingering exhaustion. Rubbing his eyes, he winced at the soreness of his limbs. He looked across the room, seeing Mabel still asleep in her bed. A string of saliva was soaking a section of her pillow. Her blanket was spread out messily on the floor where she had most likely kicked it off in her sleep. Waddles was sleeping soundly, snuggled up next to the girl.

 Dipper sighed, his gaze going to the floor. Again, he felt a strange hollowness in the room. It wasn't very inviting anymore.

 He got out of bed and went downstairs, haphazardly fixing his hat and straightening up his vest's collar. It wasn't very early, and it struck Dipper as strange that Grunkle Stan hadn't woken them up yet.

 When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced around. Everything seemed in the right order. It all seemed to be correct. Dipper gave a breath of relief. That was all he needed to be sure that this was where he was supposed to be. The only thing that bothered him (other than the atmosphere) was the lack of sound coming from the gift shop up front. No voices of customers and Grunkle Stan, no crying of little kids, not even the sounds of Soos being Soos.

  _Has it been abandoned?_ Dipper didn't know, but he walked to the curtain to look. As he had assumed, no one. He saw not one person as he scanned the gift shop.

 But something made him stop. A piece of paper, stuck to the window. Dipper let the curtain go as he stepped closer to the window. He peeled it off carefully, bit by bit, so the adhesive wouldn't tear the paper.

 On the paper was a photo, a name, and the word "missing." The photo was of him; vest and all, smiling carelessly at the camera. Below the picture was his nickname and his last name. Dipper Pines.

 Dipper stared at the paper and his photo. What had he been smiling at? When was it taken? What did everyone else think?

_How long had he been missing?_

 The boy took the paper into the dining room as he sat silently in thought. Possibilities ran through his head, but the only answer that seemed to make sense was arguably just as confusing.

 The time he had spent in the other world was the same, if not faster than the time that went by in his current one. He'd been in the other world from morning until afternoon. Time had still gone by, not frozen like he would have guessed if he were given the question without the experience. Him being gone for 24 hours would explain the missing person poster and Mabel's distress. 

 Dipper laid his head down on the table, eyes narrowed at the paper. But it still left a question. Where had Robbie gone? He must've been found, otherwise, his poster would be on the window as well.

 The ghost had said that the teen was lost. That he was afraid. Not many people went out into the woods just for the heck of it. They wouldn't have known he was lost, either.

 He either got out by himself, or no one filed him as a missing person. Dipper knew Robbie's parents and knew that even though Robbie seemed like he disliked or even hated his parents, they still loved him unconditionally with every bit of their hearts. It was quite admirable in Dipper's opinion.

 He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard footsteps coming downstairs. He quickly folded up the paper and shoved it inside his vest pocket. Mabel came to the base of the steps, her eyes aimed at her feet. Her hair was a mess and her cheeks were still puffy from the night before. She looked about as sad as she was when he came back.

  Dipper was about to say something when her gaze snapped up. Her expression shifted immediately from a sad, distant look, to a giant, watery smile. Dipper's lips were pressed together in a thin line. His instincts told him to smile. But he didn't feel like he could.

 "Dipper!" she exclaimed, her tears finally trailing down. "You're back!"

 The boy looked down at the table. "Yeah," he murmured. "I'm back."

 Mabel practically sprinted over to give him a suffocating hug. Dipper's shoulder became, once again, wet with her tears. But it was different this time.

 Last night, they were tears of anguish and hopelessness. Now, they were tears of relief and joy and  _excitement._

 Dipper couldn't even hug her back, her arms keeping his stuck at his sides. The girl let go, seemingly forcing herself to do so.

 A grin was obviously trying to crawl up on her face, but it was being purposely held in. Dipper knew what it meant. "Why did you leave?" The question was little more than a whisper. Her voice was tight. She was holding back tears.

 The boy let his gaze fall to the tabletop. "I didn't," he muttered. "I was stupid. I went after something that I didn't know anything about." He crossed his arms on the table, resting his head on them. "I got captured."

 Mabel scowled in confusion. She was silent for a moment. "What?"

 Dipper repeated himself. "I got captured."

 The girl paused. "By who?" she demanded, ducking under the table to pick up Waddles.

 Dipper sighed, narrowing his eyes. "The ghost," he muttered, his words almost inaudible. "It was—it was weird, okay? It had some kind of a... weird power that made me pass out." By this point, the boy was using his hands to emphasize. "Like, I got tired, and then I woke up in some weird dimension. You were there, Stan was there, Robbie was there, but—but it wasn't  _right_."

 Mabel's eyebrows furrowed as she patted Waddles on the head. "I don't understand."

 Dipper took a breath. "Neither do I, but look—" He showed both of his arms' scars. Mabel took a quick breath. "This is what the world depicted my injuries as. I have a feeling that it was the ghost, that it was using my memory or something to create a world that it trapped me in." The boy shoved his arms under the table, gripping his knees. "Mabel, there were other people there—people that I've never seen in my life. They were trapped there, they were captured like me."

 The girl crossed her arms around her pet pig. "But then how did you... escape?" Her tone sounded reluctant. Like she didn't believe him.

  Dipper's eyes widened. "No, Mabel, you don't understand!"

 "No, I don't understand," she agreed, looking down at the table. "I don't understand what you're talking about or how you came up with it, but—"

 Dipper stood up, the chair screeching behind him. "I didn't make it up!" he argued. "It happened, it's true!" He grabbed his vest, fumbling with the pocket inside. He pulled out the small, plastic card. "The woman gave this to me when she asked to talk. She was the one who helped me out! I can prove—"

 "You were gone for a day, Dipper," she muttered, her voice watery. The boy flinched back despite her weak tone. "We couldn't find you. We had looked everywhere. You were just...gone." Her gaze flicked back to his. As much as he wanted to look away, he found that he couldn't. He was frozen in place. "We found a cabin. We found your journal laying open in the basement."

  The boy leaned forward. "And you saw the ghost, right?"

  _"There was no ghost!"_  she yelled. Tears once again came trickling down. "Just stop talking about it. Just stop going after whatever you're going after." She hugged Waddles tighter. "You're hurting yourself and you're scaring me with your dumb goals." She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. 

 "I thought you had died, Dipper."

  The boy felt a stinging behind his eyes and his head started to hurt. Those six simple words brought him back to reality. She was right. He was hurting himself, and he was running after something that was pointless.

 Then there was a knock at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone who decided to check this book out. It really means a lot that you would choose to read it, especially since I don't really have any beta readers to check it for me. Any reviews would be awesome! So, good day to you, my friends, and have a wonderful evening.


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